Just a Memory
by AngelisIgniRelucent
Summary: Just a memory. A pretty normal one but that's what you treasure most about it. You have so little normality in your life that you treasure it. It's simple. Just a five minute period where you could forget what you are, what you've done. So you remember.
1. Apple Creek, Ohio

**This is gonna be a series of unrelated one shots all based on 'memories' of the Winchesters. I hope you enjoy! Disclaimer: I don't own. And this one's for Emily – I love you!**

Just a memory. One of _those _ones. A pretty normal one, to be honest, but that's what you treasure most about it. It's normality. You have so little of that in your life. It's so hard to come by that you treasure the little moments. Just a memory. It's simple. And short. Just a five minute period where you could forget what you are, what you've done. So you remember.  
>It was in Apple Creek, Ohio. It was such a typical 'small town' place that you thought Dean would throw a fit at the shabby homeliness of the little village pub. Surprisingly enough, though, he found it endearing. That was the first bit of the memory – your favourite bit. Him just staring at that small, cosy, unpretentious little building, and <em>smiling<em>. Really _smiling_. And it was beautiful. You remember his evergreen eyes sparkling as they brushed yours, you remember his lips on your hair, his hand on your chest. You smile, and of course you're not blushing, but it's such a lovely memory that you remember a little longer.  
>It breaks your heart as the memory turns sour, like milk left too long without the comforting coolness of the fridge. Abandoned to the glare of the too-hot sun. That's how you'd felt that night – abandoned. You remember going into the pub together. You'd tried to hold his hand, but he shrugged out of your grasp. That stung a little, but, that's just Dean, and you're used to him by now. You remember perching awkwardly on the barstool behind him as he stood, confident as ever, flirting outrageously with the barmaid.<br>Her name was Emily. She was a pretty blonde. And tall, taller than him. That made you laugh at the time. You never let him forget that. He'd told you so many times how he loved how tall you were. How it made you so much better in bed. How he loved your legs-that-went-on-forever. You'd thought that it was _just_ you he liked those traits in. You were mistaken.  
>So watched the memory in your mind, like you'd watched him walk out of the door of the pub, his eyes firmly glued on her ass, and yelling back to you that you'd be spending the night in the Impala. And you feel a solitary tear slip down your cheek.<p>

**Feedback would be great! Tell me if you think I should write more!  
>xx<strong>


	2. Motel Room, Unknown

Just a memory. A happy one. And you know how hard those are to come by, and to hold on to without staining it beyond repair. Well, it's one of those. You're young – of course you are. They're the only happy memories you have – the young ones. Well, except …

Anyway, you're young. Really young. You can't have been older than four or five. Before you knew. When you could still be a child. Before you could dismantle and mantle an AK-47 in thirteen seconds flat.

It's one of those moments. The sort when it was just you and Dean – it was _usually_ just you and Dean in those days. Dad was either 'away on business' or 'getting drunk'. Well, it was just you and Dean, in just another crappy motel room, watching some cartoon on TV. It's sad that you can't remember where you were, or what show it was, but that's what happens when you grow up – you forget.

So, you're watching this show, but it's late, and you're _tired_, so you lean your head on Dean's shoulder. Well, it's not as simple as that. You _try_ and lean your head on Dean's shoulder. You try so hard to be all sneaky-like, because you know he doesn't like it when you do that. Well, he _says_ he doesn't like it when you do that, but you think he's just pretending.

Anyway, the first few times, he shoves you away and pretends to be all angry, but you know he's nly joking. "Oh Deeean!" you whine after a while, "don't you looove meee?" And you remember being childishly confused as to why he suddenly stopped pushing you away, and crushed you into a soul-shatteringly tight hug instead. He said something, he whispered it into your hair, but you didn't' ear it. You were too busy trying to bust out of his grip.

When he finally let you go, you looked up, curiously, into his eyes and, with a childish innocence that you sometimes wish you never lost, you ask, "Why are you crying, Dean?"

"I'm _not_, Sammy," he responds indignantly in your mind, but you remember seeing a single tear slip down his cheek and, almost as is in sympathy with the memory, you feel one sliding down yours too.

And then you wonder if you'll ever wash off the tear-tracks of a lifetime.


End file.
